Freaky Friday
by kandisi
Summary: Slash, P/S/Mo. Peter acquires the ability to switch bodies, but unfortunately not one's state of mind, with another person, and does so with Sylar to save a man. Sylar becomes all love. Peter is deranged and hunger-ridden. Mohinder is SO confused...


**Title:** Freaky Friday  
**Author:** sapphire17  
**Pairings:** Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar, Peter/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar/Mohinder, one-sided Sylar/Emma (LOL, I KNOW), implied Matt/Mohinder  
**Characters:** Peter Petrelli, Sylar/Gabriel Gray, Mohinder Suresh, Hesam, Emma Coolidge, Angela Petrelli  
**Rating:** T/PG-13 or maybe M15... I almost placed this under 'M' just for all of the bad language, but, hopefully it's not _quite_ that graphic...  
**Summary:** Peter acquires the ability to switch bodies with another person, and does so with Sylar to save someone. Sylar becomes happy. Peter not so much. Mohinder is SO confused. As time goes by, Sylar slowly starts to become Peter while Peter starts to become Sylar... In the end, will things get back to normal? And will Mohinder be able to live through it and keep it together when he finds out what's going on...?f  
**Warnings:** Kinda long, crack, bad language, mild violence, power abuse, a non-explicit threesome, the fact that Sylar-as-Peter fis all over Mohinder and vice-versa, the fact that Peter loses his freggin' mind towards the end once the hunger takes him over, the fact that Sylar becomes all emo empath once Peter's consciofusness takes him over, Angela's dirty mind, Hesam's general stupidity  
**A/N:** Um, yeah... dunno WHERE this came from... I was watching the season four Smallville episode where Lionel switched bodies with Clark, and thought "it would be funny if Peter and Sylar switched bodies, especially if Mohinder was involved... Oh snap, I should _totally_ do that!" x__x;; This is my most random idea _eva_... Also, sorry if this fic seems too long for a one-shot. I was originally going to post this as a multi-chaptered fic, but then, it probably would have taken me over a week to post it all... I also proof-read this fic a zillion times to correct any errors (and, God, I am SICK of this fic now!), but I'm still sorry if I missed anything... Anywayz, please R&R, if you think you may have something nice to say!

**Freaky Friday**

It all started on a typical Friday morning, December eighteenth, 2009.

"What's the status?"

"Apparently another home-invasion, attempted murder by someone who is suspected to be mentally ill. The victim, Mark Stanton, who just won the New York state lottery jackpot, said he had just gotten home from an electronics store when some man busted into his house with a gun and demanded to know where his lottery ticket was. Now, the man – Jason Starks – claims that he _is_ Mark Stanton, and he's turned into a raving maniac. He has a gunshot wound to the shoulder, also."

"Dear Lord... Sounds like this guy needs some serious help."

"Right you are, Peter."

Peter Petrelli and his partner Hesam arrived on-scene at Mark's suburban house, and the ambulance pulled up on the side of the street, and parked. There were already numerous police vehicles there, on the streets and in the driveway.

"Let's go, Hesam," Peter stated, hopping out of the ambulance as he and Hesam got out a stretcher and wheeled it across the front lawn, into the house. Hesam and Peter were finally on good terms again, now that Hesam knew Peter wasn't behind all of those mysterious accidents that had been taking place back when Peter had been disappearing randomly _right before they occurred_.

Oh well, right?

It's not as if Peter had bore _superspeed_ or something.

Peter and Hesam entered through the open front door, where they saw a man, who was supposedly Jason Starks, on the floor.

And he was raving like a maniac.

"I... think we're gonna have to tie him down, Peter..."

"Yeah..." Peter agreed. He kneeled down next to Jason, and tried to calm him. "Calm down, everything's going to be fine."

"But you don't understand!" the man yelled, "I AM Mark Stanton! That crazy fucker touched me after shooting HIMSELF, and then, next thing I knew, I was HIM!"

"Woah..." Hesam said, "Peter, get out the Valium..."

Peter nodded, getting out a vial and a syringe. Peter couldn't deny the fact that he had heard stranger things before... He withdrew a decent about of Valium from the vial, before, as Hesam and the cops held Jason down, Peter injected him in the arm with the drugs.

Peter and Hesam then lifted Jason onto the stretcher, and began rolling it towards the ambulance. After forcefully strapping him down, that is, and after an officer had handcuffed him to it.

"Now Jason, tell me again what happened?" Peter inquired with curiosity.

"I told you," the man who was supposedly Jason replied, sounding a little out of it now, "I'm NOT Jason. I-I had just bought a new computer at Best Buy with some of my winnings from the lottery, a Mac, along with an iPod, when this guy appeared behind me with a revolver. I thought he just wanted the computer and the iPod. He told me to open the door and go inside, and he followed me... We went into the living-room, and then, he grabbed my arm, and this weird... bright light filled the air above us, as if our bodies were giving it off. Then one beam of light went from his body into mine, and vice-versa, and next thing I knew, I-I was HIM! Oh God whoever is going to _believe_ me?!"

"I think... I think _I_ do..." Peter murmured.

Hesam frowned. "Peter, you trippin' on me again?"

"You and Julius take Jason back to the hospital. I'm... gonna go check-out 'Mark', you know, just to see if he needs any medical assistance..."

Hesam furrowed his brow. "Peter... are you going all dark avenger like you were before when all the strange shit was going down? I'm not covering your ass again, man, I'm not, even if you are my friend. The hospital already suspects you of stealing over twenty vials of Morphine from the hospital so you could either sell it, or get high, and at this point, I'm not sure I don't agree with the staff. Ever since I've known you, you often act like you're on something, or spaced out all the time, talking about all this crazy evolution nonsense, and now that your scary-ass brother has disappeared, you've been crazier than ever."

Peter sighed. Yeah... he had sorta... done that last one, and the Morphine thing... Before he had gone after Sylar—or, well—before Sylar had come to the hospital after him, Peter _had_ stolen near to thirty vials of Morphine from the hospital in the hopes that he might drug Sylar out of his gore. If anyone found-out, Peter would be fired, maybe even sent to jail.

"I'm not on drugs, Hesam," Peter retorted in a calm voice, "And I'm not insane. I'm just a concerned citizen. Something about this story doesn't click."

"You're not a cop, Peter, let them do their jobs. This is only like... I dunno, the fifty-eighth time I've told you that in the past _month_."

Peter abruptly returned Hesam's frown. "I'm going back, and that's that. Now go get this guy some help, and I'll see you soon."

"Fine, Peter," Hesam sighed, "Do it your way, just like you always do..."

Hesam loaded 'Jason' into the back of the ambulance, before Peter, in uniform, walked back across the lawn and into the house, where 'Mark' was talking to set of officers as they took his statement on the crime.

"Hello officers," Peter greeted, "Mind if I have a word with Mark here for a second? I just want to check him out, see if he's okay."

'Check him out', indeed.

"Sure thing," one of the policemen responded, "We'll get the rest of your statement later, Mr. Stanton."

Mark nodded, as the officers walked away.

Mark looked at Peter, and smiled. "I assure you, sir, I'm okay."

Peter grunted. "You have an ability, don't you?"

'Mark' arched an eyebrow. "What are you getting at? Ability... pssh, that's the most _ridiculous_ thing I've ever heard, space cadet."

"Well I'm not so sure. I'll just have to find out."

"You belong in the loony bin with the guy who tried to rob me, bud."

Peter smirked, reaching out as he grasped 'Mark's wrist. Just then, a bright spark of energy surged from Mark's arm, into Peter's body.

"Knew it," Peter growled.

"What the hell was that? Who ARE you?"

"I'm like you, I'm one of us," Peter responded, truthfully, "And you're _going_ to give Mark Stanton his body back."

The man who was in all facts Tom Hardeman smirked. He had changed bodies so many times over the years since discovering his ability, that, Hell, he wasn't even sure he knew who HE was anymore. There were side-effects of staying in another person's body for more than several hours, and if you stayed as another person for too long, you sort of became them, and if you ever switched back, a part of the person or people you had switched bodies with stayed with you.

"Like Hell I am. Officers! This pansy faggoty paramedic here is sexually assaulting me. I told him I was okay, and then, he said he really didn't come over here for that. He said he wanted to ask me out to dinner, and when I said no, he freaked out and said he was gonna come back later and beat me up. I've had enough of this shit today without some pretty boy trying to get in my pants and into my wallet."

"WHAT?!" Peter exclaimed.

"Alright sir, the guy's okay, it's time that you leave," one of the policeman stated, grabbing one of Peter's arms before he began dragging him towards the front door, "We don't want any more trouble here..."

"But-But he's lying...!" Peter yelled, struggling against the cop's grasp. Then, another officer, who had also overheard Tom's statement, came over and took Peter's other arm into grasp, helping his partner drag Peter towards the exit point.

"I hate fags..." the second officer muttered, barely audible, but Peter caught it.

Damn.

If only Peter could argue with that statement.

But Mohinder Suresh wouldn't like that.

"I'll _stop_ you!" Peter shouted as the cops threw him out the door.

And, Peter would. The first thing he was going to do now when work was over was go back to his apartment, wait for Mohinder to arrive, and absorb his ability of enhanced strength. Then, he would return to 'Tom's', beat the shit out of him, and drag him to the mental institution where the _real_ Mark was being held. Peter would possibly bring a gun, even.

He had to stop this man, before he changed bodies a-gain.

Fuck, who _knew_ how many people this guy had trapped in another person's body...?

So, with that thought in mind, Peter walked to the end of the street, hailed a cab, and went back to the hospital.

***

"Peter... we got the call from the stationed officers that you sexually assaulted Mark Stanton... And I mean, I respect your personal life and everything, and I mean, I know the truth man, so don't lie to me. I saw the Indian guy here a couple weeks ago who gave you the flowers out back while I was on my smoke break when you didn't think I saw... It's your choice, and I respect that and all, but Peter... you can't go trying to seduce some guy every time we get a call! Is THAT what you've really been doing behind my back? Landing lays with random strangers? Is that what's been going on with in the shadows? Why you're so wigged out?"

Peter stood dumbfounded. "Excuse me?! Of COURSE not, Hesam! I did NOT come on to 'Mark Stanton', he LIED about it! And the 'Indian guy' you saw is Mohinder Suresh, and yes, he IS my lover. Get over it. Now, that 'Mark' guy is CRAZY, and I am _going_ to stop him."

_Going to stop/molest him_... Hesam thought.

"Yeah, sure, Peter... I see you've been taking lessons from your fucked-up brother."

Peter stepped forwards, and grabbed Hesam by the sleeves, slamming him back into the wall.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Nathan that way!"

Hesam sighed. "Calm down. We just got back on good terms, I don't want us to have another falling out. I love you like a brother, Peter, you're my best-friend here..."

Peter released Hesam, and stepped back, sighing likewise. "S-Sorry... It's just—it's been a very, very long day for me. A long couple of months, actually... As you know, yes, Nathan has... well, vanished, and I'm not coping with it well. I assure you though, I am _not_ on drugs, I'm _not_ binging, and I'm _definitely_ not seducing random strangers."

"Alright, Peter, I believe you."

"Thanks, Hesam."

"Peter, Hesam! We just got an urgent phone-call!" a woman up front at the hospital desk yelled, "A family is being attacked by someone who is suspected to be a serial killer!"

Peter and Hesam jogged up to the desk.

"Who is it?" Peter inquired.

"One of the FBI's most wanted. Gabriel. Gabriel Gray."

"Ex-EXCUSE ME?!" Peter shouted, sounding hysterical.

The calls woman nodded. "Yes, he escaped from a police station several months ago, only haven been seen a couple times by eye-witnesses since then in the past couple of months. He's... crazy..."

"I know that," Peter responded, "I'm fully familiar with Sy—Gabriel Gray."

Fuck.

Just, fuck.

Now Peter REALLY wished he still had Edgar's power of superspeed, or better yet, ALL of the abilities he had still had when he had still bore his original gift of empathic mimicry.

Damn his father.

"Hesam, I'm driving," Peter stated with assurance.

"But Peter, ev-er-y time you drive, you speed like a maniac. You almost get us killed every time."

"Too damn bad. I'm driving. End of story."

"Fine, Peter..."

Peter and Hesam got the designated address from the receptionist, and, fuck, Hesam had a damn hard time keeping up with Peter as Peter dashed down the hall and out the back of the hospital, leaping into the ambulance as he started the vehicle and roughly shoved it into drive. Hesam barely had the chance to get in the vehicle before Peter had already taken off!

And of course, Peter sped.

He sped like a madman.

Ambulances were supposed to speed, but not down the highway at over one-hundred mph...

The ambulance jerked around another car that had pulled over, while Hesam grasped onto the dashboard, fearing for his _life_.

"P-Peter, _slow down...!_ My God, you're going to get us _killed_, man!"

"Well if I don't hurry, 'Gabriel' is going to kill a LOT more people, so it may be worth it."

"You actually think you can stop a SERIAL KILLER? You're JUST a paramedic!"

No, Peter wasn't 'just' a paramedic.

He _used_ to be the most powerful of them all.

Only now, Sylar was.

But Peter could still stop him.

He had stopped Sylar before, and he would do it again.

The ambulance reached the apartment complex where all of this was going on, and Peter slammed on the breaks, out in the middle of the street, slamming the vehicle into park before he jumped out of the ambulance and sprinted towards the front doors where numerous cops and evacuees were located in front of the yellow tape.

Peter ignored it, running right through it.

"Hey, you can't go in there! Sir! SIR!" one of the cops yelled as Peter ran into the building.

There were a set of cops at the elevators, and when they saw Peter, they too, tried to stop him from proceeding.

"You can't go up there," one of the officers stated.

"Like hell I can't!" Peter shouted. He hated having to result to violence in such a situation, but, he didn't have any other choice. He punched the cop who had just addressed him in the face, splitting his lip, and, damn, if there's one thing Sylar knew, it was that Peter had always packed a mean punch—with or without Niki Sander's and Knox's abilities.

Peter turned as the other policeman got out his gun, and kneed him in the stomach, hard, causing him to grasp at his lower half before he dropped the gun and toppled down to the floor in pain.

Peter didn't have time to wait for the elevator, so, he took the stairs.

All the way to the fourth floor, running up the steps as if his very _life_ depended on it.

Peter made it to his destination, and ran down the hall, all the way to apartment number 4H, where the door was already open.

Thank God.

No cops standing outside.

But inside...

Shots were being fired every so often, and loud booms and bangs and crashes could be heard from every which direction.

Oh fuck.

Peter entered the apartment, and in the living room, saw several officers waiting outside of the bedroom with their guns raised.

A man ran out of the bedroom, his officer's uniform looking as if it had been scorched, and, he was burned.

"Wh-What the HELL IS HE?!" the cop shouted, running out of the apartment, completely fear-stricken, and completely ignoring Peter.

Peter ran into the apartment, through the officers, who didn't have the chance to stop him.

Peter ran into the bedroom.

Oh shit.

On the floor of the master bedroom, was a woman... And... yeah, she had been scalped, alright...

In the corner, a man stood, green, concussion beams shooting out his hands as none other than Sylar flailed back, before he attempted to strike the man with Elle's power of electric manipulation.

But the beams were stronger, deflecting Sylar's electricity.

"I am going to _get_ your power, and I'm going to kill you, just like I did your pretty little power-possessing wife's," Sylar growled, still more electricity shooting forth from his hands, "I want your power even more than hers. It's one of the strongest I've _ever_ seen, and I am _going_ to have it."

The angry man Sylar was attacking shot more green beams out of his own hands, as Sylar used telekinesis to defect them—the beams springing forth in every which direction as they hit the invisible force field of power. This continued, until blood was dripping forth from both of their noises from power overexertion. Eventually, though, the man won, hitting Sylar in the chest with his concussion beams as Sylar's telekinetic boundary was broken down and Sylar went flying through the air to land over by the dead woman's body.

A set of cops came to the open doorway.

Well, fine prime fucking timing. Had they been on coffee break?

"Hey you, you're not supposed to be in here!" one of the cops shouted, looking at Peter.

Sylar rose from the floor, clutching at his healing chest before he wiped the blood from his nose.

"Peter..." Sylar growled, "The fuck are you doing here?"

The officer who had yelled at Peter shot Sylar in the shoulder, and then in the stomach.

Okay... so maybe taking that body-jumper's power _hadn't_ been such a good idea for Peter to do after all... In doing so, Peter had relinquished Rene's ability of nullification, and if he hadn't of, Sylar would be helpless right now.

Damn, Peter knew he could be stupid sometimes, but _this_...

He had outdone himself by a long-shot.

Peter could tell Sylar was scared shitless after having gotten shot, for fear that Peter still had the Haitian's power. But, Sylar was relieved when, as he stood back up against the wall, the bullets re-emerged out of his shoulder and torso, falling to the floor.

Then, Sylar zapped the set of officers, laughing maniacally.

Of course, they ran away after that...

"Get out of here...! Now's your chance!" Peter shouted, gesturing to the man in the corner.

He nodded, running through the master bedroom, around the bed, and then...

"I don't think so."

Sylar telekinetically hauled him into the nearest wall, approaching him with a pointed finger while holding his arms and hands back by his head so he would be unable to use his power against him, just as he had done to Peter in Mohinder's loft.

"I'll get you next, Peter," Sylar laughed, "You better leave while you still can. You won't defeat me again, not this time."

"You-You killed Emily!" the man shouted, "I'll _kill_ you!"

"No," Sylar replied calmly enough, "I'm going to kill _you_."

Peter panicked, and then, an idea came to him. With his current power, he could... no... that was crazy! Then, Peter would be Sylar, and Sylar would be Peter, but... maybe if he kept it that way only long enough to stop Sylar, then, he could get Sylar's body locked away again and return to himself.

Okay, so a-gain, Peter wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed...

...As he ran over to Sylar, and touched his back, activating his current ability.

Bright light filled the air, and the light from Peter's body transferred itself into Sylar's, as Sylar's did the same to Peter's

The both of them shook temporarily, and then, the man against the wall fell down to the floor.

"Are you okay, sir?" Peter inquired sweetly. "Let me help you up."

He extended his hand.

"You fucking BASTARD!" the man shouted, shooting Sylar, well, Peter now, with more of those damned beams.

Meanwhile...

"What the FUCK?!!!" Sylar shouted as he saw HIMSELF, getting shot with those concussion beams. He looked down, touching his body, only it wasn't _his_ body anymore.

It was Peter's.

Oh—Oh fuck!

Peter Petrelli was in Sylar's body, and Sylar was in Peter Petrelli's!

"Peter, what in the HELL have you DONE TO US?!" Sylar shouted, full of rage.

He also sounded freaked the fuck out.

Peter regained composure, and stood, as Sylar's—well—his chest now healed itself over, his clothing mussed and burned.

"I stopped you," Peter smirked, "Never underestimate a Petrelli. You're going to be locked up, now, locked up for good, and even if I have to be locked up myself for all your sick, murdering ways, it's worth it to have you stopped."

Two more officers then entered the bedroom, guns raised.

At Peter.

"Alright Gabriel Gray, you sick fuck, you are under arrest for the murder of your mother, Virginia Gray, along with countless others, including the officer you killed at the carnival."

"Wait! You don't understand, I'm Peter Petrelli!"

Peter then pointed to his original body. "THAT'S Gabriel Gray, I switched bodies with him to stop him!"

And the cops were... yeah...

Sylar folded his arms across his chest, and smirked. "I have no idea what he's talking about. He's crazy."

Peter frowned, and before the cops had the chance to shoot him, and before the man could beam him again, he turned, and flew through the window, shattering the glass as he flew away.

Well, fuck.

Now Sylar was in really deep shit.

Peter Petrelli had just gotten away, in his fucking body!

And now that Peter had all of Sylar's powers, he would be virtually _impossible_ for Sylar to stop.

The officers stared, their jaws gaped.

"Wh-What the fuck was that...? He _flew!_ Out the window...!"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Oh Good God, get the fuck over it, will you? You're pathetic. Damn, I hate cops."

One of the cops frowned. "Excuse us? How did you even get in here?"

"I, uh, know Pe—Sy—'Gabriel Gray'. We have a long, _long_ history together. I've been after him for years."

"Yeah, well you're just a paramedic. We'll let you go this time, but if you ever, EVER pull a stunt like this again, you WILL be getting jail time, do you understand? You're lucky you have such a... pretty face... and a pretty, lithe body..."

Oh God.

Now, as Peter, Sylar was being hit on.

But, Sylar agreed with the asshole... Peter was pretty, or at least, Sylar had always thought so.

Now he was pretty, too, he supposed.

Sylar nodded, and walked out of the room.

***

Once outside, Hesam ran up to Sylar, and gripped either of his shoulders, shaking him.

"Peter, oh God, Peter, are you okay?!"

"Who the hell are you, Peter's boyfriend?"

"What...?"

"I mean—yeah, I'm okay."

Hesam sighed. "Peter, what were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself killed! What happened in there?"

"Oh," Sylar shrugged, "The guy got away. No biggie. Now, where do I live again?"

"Uhh... Peter, are you _sure_ you're not on drugs?"

"It's been a fucking long fucking day, and I just want to go home."

"Your shift doesn't end for two more hours."

Sylar smirked, angrily. "Do I LOOK like a goddamned paramedic to you?"

"...Yeah... Peter... what's gotten into you...?"

Sylar, actually.

"Fine, whatever," Sylar sighed, "Let's go."

Hesam nodded. "But I'M driving."

"Fucking fine with me."

"Why do you keep saying 'fucking', Peter? You rarely ever cuss."

"Well that was the old Peter," Sylar answered, "I'm the new 'improved' version."

"O-kay..." Hesam stuttered.

And thus, Hesam and 'Peter' went back to the hospital...

***

Sylar angrily kicked the ground as he walked down the hallway. And, damn, that annoying 'Hesam' was _still_ following him!

Sylar turned. "Look, Hissima, will you STOP following me? Are you sure you're not my lover?"

"Uuh, no..." Hesam frowned at Sylar's statement, also at the mispronunciation of his name, "You already told me that Indian guy was."

Sylar's jaw dropped. "Mo-Mohinder and Peter are FUCKING?!"

Everyone in the hallway froze, looking at Peter as if he had lost his mind.

"Um, yeah, you two are... I guess..." Hesam followed-up, "Peter, why do you keep referring to yourself in third person? You've been doing it ever since we left Stanton's. It's kind of... creepy..."

"Long day," Sylar repeated, "Now, leave me alone. Where's the coffee room?"

"You should know that."

"Just refresh my fucking memory, Hesimy."

"Hesam, Peter, Hesam..." Hesam sighed. "And it's right down the hall and to the left, on the very end."

Yeah, Peter was definitely tripping on some serious Morphine, alright...

"Okay, Hesame," Sylar sighed, turning on his heal and heading down the hall.

That was when a young, blonde woman came out of one of the rooms, and bumped into Sylar.

There was a spark, and Sylar felt as a rush of power entered his body.

"The fuck was that?!" Sylar shouted, again attracting quite a bit of attention.

Sylar paused, and stared down at Emma Coolidge.

"Peter... are you okay?" Emma asked.

"Wow..." Sylar whistled, "Hey there, what's _your_ name?"

Emma chuckled. "It's Emma, Peter, you know that."

"How can you hear me with those earphones in?"

Emma looked at Sylar with a funny expression. "Um, Peter, you know I'm deaf..."

"Oh, right, 'Emma'. You want to go grab a coffee with me, pretty?"

Emma shifted a little uneasily. "Um, sure, Peter... let's go..."

So Sylar and Emma walked down to the coffee room, where there was cappuccino machine, a microwave, a couple vending machines, a small refrigerator, and a couple of small couches and several chairs. Also, a ton of outdated magazines and newspapers.

"Decaf okay?" Sylar asked. Decaf was his favourite, as Sylar had never been one for caffeine.

"Uh, Peter?" Emma inquired, "You always drink your coffee with more caffeine in it than a triple latte.

"Oh, um, right... I'll do just that..." Sylar said, walking over to the coffee machine. He turned, so that Emma would be able to see his lips move. "So what do you want?"

"I'll have what you're having."

Sylar smiled and nodded, fixing the set of coffees. Then, he handed one to Emma, and took a sip of his.

He nearly spit it out.

"Damn, this shit is _strong_. He must NEVER sleep."

"Who's he?"

"Me."

"Well... that is true, you never sleep..."

Just then, that damned Hesam walked into the room.

"Now what Heman?" Sylar sighed.

Hesam sighed back. What the hell was WITH Peter today?

Oh the drugs, that's right.

"We need your signature saying that you didn't sexually harass Mark Stanton this morning. He's pressing charges, man."

Sylar frowned. "Peter's sexually harassing random men?"

"I told you, dude, _stop_ referring to yourself in third person, it's scary," Hesam requested, "And yeah, apparently you are. You said you didn't, but now, you're acting like you did."

Great.

Sylar was trapped in the body of a class-A pervert.

But Sylar had already known that. Peter was one kinky SOB, especially when he had a syringe or a nail gun.

During both of those incidents, Sylar hadn't been totally sure that Peter wasn't going to sexual assault _him_. In the president's limo, Peter had gotten close enough to Sylar to almost kiss him, and during the second, Peter had fucking straddled Sylar until Sylar could feel their groins pressing together and Sylar swore that Peter had actually ground down into him a couple of times.

It felt kinda good, so that's the real reason Sylar was so desperate not to shapeshift back into Nathan, even when Peter had threatened to erase his memories.

Yeah...

That and the limo incident had been kind of nice...

Minus the syringe and the nail gun, though.

Sylar rolled his eyes again as Hesam handed him the clipboard with the papers atop it, and looked down at the bottom where it said 'signature'. Sylar held the palm of his left hand over it, but, nothing happened...

"...Peter, what are you doing...?"

"I'm signing the paper, what does it look like to you?"

"...You sort of have to have a pen first, man..."

"No I—oh yeah..."

Oh, that was right... Sylar didn't have Joe Macon's thoughtography anymore...

Sylar took the pen, and then, signed away.

...Then, Hesam looked down at the paper, and could only stare again. "..._Gabriel Gray...?_ Isn't that the same serial killer who got away at that last crime scene...? Peter... what in the HELL ARE YOU ON?! You took the Morphine, didn't you? _Didn't_ you? Peter, if you have a drug problem, now's the time to ask for help. Me and Emma will help you kick the drugs, Peter. Get you into a rehab program here."

"I-I, um, erm, you see..."

Fuck.

"I'm not on drugs," Sylar finally responded, "I HATE drugs."

Yeah, that was true.

But was Peter on drugs...?

Damn, what if he was? Then, when the drugs wore off, Peter would leave Sylar cracking out for another hit! That little bastard!

But—no—that's right. The Morphine had been for Sylar.

Phew.

Hesam slumped his shoulders. "I'll have another copy of the document faxed over... Just-Just don't do anything crazy until then..."

Hesam then walked out of the room.

Sylar turned to face Emma. "Do they have cake in the cafeteria? Or waffles? Pie? I'm starving."

"Yes, they do, Peter."

Sylar set down his coffee, and then, turned to head to the cafeteria. "You want to come, beautiful?"

Well, getting laid in Peter's body wouldn't be so terrible, would it?

Kinky as it was.

And hey! Now Sylar could look at himself naked! Why he hadn't shapeshifted into Peter and done the same thing before he didn't know. He'd already done that with Mohinder's body... He and the mirrors had had some pretty steamy nights together.

Emma groaned. "Peter, I've already told you... I'm just not interested in a relationship right now, and I have to get back to work."

"Suit yourself, but I promise you I would be the best you've ever had."

Emma fought the urge to slap Peter-Sylar. "I'm going back to work. Enjoy your cake, pie, and waffles."

Sylar hissed slightly, but Emma didn't catch it, her back already turned.

Peter must have been bad at bagging the girls. He probably did a little better with the boys, from what Sylar could tell. Sylar was wondering when the last time Peter had gotten laid had been, but then, he remembered Mohinder again...

Score...!

As soon as Sylar got off from work, he was totally going to screw Mohinder. In Peter Petrelli's body. God, Peter would be SO mad at him! But, damn... What would be even worse than that? Would be for Sylar to screw Peter in _Sylar's_ body.

Oh, God, okay, so Sylar drew the line there... He could only imagine Peter's maniacal laughter as he hovered over him, torturing Sylar with drugs and a nail gun while fucking Sylar in Sylar's _own body_. Or almost, almost worse, he could shapeshift back into Peter, and then, Peter would be fucking Peter...!

What a _creepy_ thought.

Sylar _would_ think of it, of course.

Sylar needed cake. Now.

So with that in mind, he brushed those annoyingly long bangs out of his eyes, and headed for the cafeteria.

***

In a phone booth, on the streets, Peter Petrelli dialed away at Mohinder Suresh's phone number. Of course, Peter had shapeshifted back into his own form the second he had landed from his flight...

Thank God Sylar had that ability, now.

"Come on come on come on!"

No answer.

"Damnit!"

That had been the sixth simultaneous time Peter had called him. Mohinder must be really busy.

Well... Mohinder was supposed to drop by Peter's apartment right after work, so Peter supposed he'd have to wait a whole 'nother hour before he informed his lover that there were _two_ Peters roaming the streets... and that one of those Peters was Sylar. Mohinder was going to be freaked.

Peter just _had_ to find a way to get his body back... This was even worse than the time his future self had trapped him inside Jessie Murphy's body in Level 5. Peter supposed he could just always off Sylar now, and stay Sylar, stay shapeshifted into himself and gain all of Sylar's vast abilities in the process, but... that scared Peter a little. Plus, Peter had the hunger now. He was already craving the destruction, the suffering, the death... and Peter couldn't live with that for the rest of his life. He'd rather be himself any day than someone he wasn't, which made the fact that Sylar had wanted to live his life as Nathan, and then the president, so bedazzling to Peter.

Peter telekinetically opened the phone booth's door (and, God, he really had forgotten how much he missed that particular power...), exited, and then, when no one was looking, he took off into mid air again.

To fly back to his apartment.

And since the other 'Peter' had his keys, Sylar's telekinesis was going to be put to good use again.

***

Sylar had just finished his chocolate cake, his pumpkin pie, and his blueberry waffles, and he had eaten a whole MESS of them. Also a baked potato with chives and sour cream.

Damn, did Peter EVER eat?

No _wonder_ he was so skinny!

Sylar had been STARVING.

Peter never slept, he never ate... he was probably too busy feeding his hero complex for those things.

And who was that paramedic hitting on Sylar in the cafeteria who had combed his bangs out of his face? God, Peter had every guy after him!

Sylar actually felt... rather at ease, though. He felt as if this enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders, just like he had felt during the last eclipse. The hunger was almost gone, and, he didn't want it anymore. Not while he didn't have it, anyway.

Then, sheesh, that annoying Hesam showed up again.

"Now what Hisim?"

"He-sam, Peter..." Hesam grunted, "And, your shift's up. Your ride's out front, that Indian guy again."

Sylar perked up. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Very good, Hisom. I'll-I'll see you later. Have a nice day, and be careful. We wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Now _that's_ more like the Peter I know. So _polite_ all of a sudden," Hesam said with a funny hand gesture, "Very different from how you were acting earlier, like there was somebody else in your body or something."

Yeah, like THAT was possible.

Hesam smiled. "Well, see you bright n' early at four A.M., okay, Peter?"

"Yeah, sure."

And so Hesam turned, and headed for the elevators, while Sylar meanwhile headed for the front of the hospital, taking the stairs up to the first floor from the ground level.

While walking down the hallway, Sylar suddenly noticed a choir was singing in a nearby room.

And there were waves of colour floating in the air all around them.

"Wow..." Sylar stammered, taking a closer look, "It's _beautiful_. Is this secretly one of Peter's abilities? To see sounds?"

After staring at the choir a while longer in awe, his eyes fixated on the gorgeous, illuminating colours, Sylar continued out front, where a taxi cab was parked with Mohinder standing out in front.

"Peter!" Mohinder exclaimed, sounding thrilled. Sylar walked up to Mohinder, as Mohinder threw his arms around Sylar's neck. Sylar hesitantly returned the embrace, not used to seeing this side of the geneticist at all.

Mohinder also had a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

"An early birthday present for you, Peter," Mohinder chuckled cutely. He opened the box, took out a caramel truffle, and held it out before Sylar's mouth. Sylar caught the drift, and parted his lips, before Mohinder placed the chocolate into his mouth. "Good?" Mohinder giggled.

"Mmm, yeah..."

"Well, let's go back to my loft now! I'm sorry if I surprised you—I mean—I know I was supposed to meet you at your apartment, but I got off from work early today and wanted to surprise to you."

"Glad you did."

"Well okay, lover, let's go!"

Sylar nodded, suddenly feeling very, very happy. He didn't have to worry about the hunger anymore, _and_ he had Mohinder.

Maybe living his life as Peter Petrelli _wouldn't_ be so bad?

In fact, maybe it'd be even better?

Sylar had always had a thing for the Indian, and once again, he felt just like he had during the eclipse with Elle. The hunger was nearly gone, and because of that, Sylar had no desire to get it back. He wasn't Sylar anymore, he was Gabriel Gray again, that sweet, innocent, shy little watchmaker from Queens.

Oh, wait.

Nah... he was Peter.

But that was good, too.

Sylar couldn't let Peter have his body back now... not if he could help it. Screw Peter Petrelli. He could be stuck as Sylar now, living forever with the hunger, until Peter ultimately became a killer like he had before when, unknown to Sylar, Peter had killed Nathan in the future.

And if Sylar ever changed his mind about the 'living forever part', he could always pay Claire a visit, in which she would welcome him with open arms, and absorb her ability and just keep it for all eternity.

But then... he'd have to watch Mohinder and everyone but Claire and Peter around him die... It suddenly didn't seem like such a good idea. Well, he could always hook up with Claire, and Sylar had always thought that the girl had had a bit of a thing for Peter. Maybe Claire was incestuous? Cool, now Sylar could have Mohinder, AND Claire! Maybe even Noah Bennet and anyone else he wanted. They'd surely have him now that he was Peter... _everyone_ loved Peter.

Sylar got into the passenger's seat of the cab, and the cab was off.

"So, how was work today, Peter?" Mohinder inquired sweetly as he drove.

"It was okay," Sylar responded, "Well, with the exception of this Hisema guy and the fact that I got hit up with a sexual assault charge... Don't know how THAT happened."

"Hesam...?" Mohinder inquired, "I thought you two had made up? And what do you mean a sexual assault charge?"

"I don't know," Sylar repeated, "Um... I told a guy he looked nice in a suit, and then he said he wanted to screw me. It seems like a LOT of guys want to screw me. Anyway, I said no, and the guy threw a fit, and now he's suing me saying that I came on to him first."

"Awww, I'm so sorry, sweetie," Mohinder apologized, "That's too bad. Don't worry, he won't get you. You're mine, after all. No one else's."

"Yes," Sylar smiled, "I'm yours."

"Do you still have that haircut appointment?"

"What? _Haircut?_ Hell _no!_ I look _too_ _pretty_ with long bangs draping in my eyes like some emo kid. I shouldn't have cut them the _first_ time around, then they'd be even longer now."

Mohinder sighed. "That's what I tried to tell you, Peter. I never wanted you to cut your hair either. So, yes, we'll just skip the haircut, then, shall we?"

Sylar nodded. "Indeed."

"Well, back to my loft."

***

Peter had reached his apartment, and was just now using telekinesis to bust open his front door.

Which he... yeah, kind of did.

Well, he'd just replace the locks and door later...

Peter entered the apartment, slamming the broken door shut behind him. He was going to run over to his phone to give Mohinder another call when...

Peter hunched over, and before he knew it, he was shapeshifting, rapidly, between himself, Sylar, Virginia Gray, Nathan Petrelli, Agent Talb, Emile Danko, Micah Sanders, Claire Bennet, the president, and everyone else Sylar had ever impersonated.

Peter couldn't control it.

Finally, his current body settled on Sylar's original form again, and when Peter tried to shapeshift back into himself, he couldn't. He didn't have Sylar's advanced control over all of these new abilities that Sylar had bore, and shapeshifting was an ability that Peter had never had the time to master. After Sylar's 'death', Peter had promptly relinquished Sylar's shapeshifting ability and had taken Mohinder's ability to aid him with his job.

And yes, the control department was one area that Sylar had _always_ outdone Peter in.

"Damnit..." Peter cursed, heading over to his phone nevertheless. Yeah, Mohinder was going to be freaked, alright.

This was one _freaky Friday_...

So, with that in mind, Peter picked up his phone, and dialed Mohinder's cellular number...

***

Ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Oh, my phone's going off, wonder who it could be?" Mohinder inquired, looking down at the caller I.D. "Huh? What the hell? Says the call is coming from _your_ apartment, Peter..."

Sylar swallowed. "R-Really? Maybe I have a burglar who saw my address book or something?"

That had sounded lame.

Mohinder answered his phone. "Who is this...?"

"Mohinder! This is _Peter_, I swear, you've GOT to believe me! Sylar's in my body and I'm in his, and Sylar is going to KILL you AS me if he finds out about us!"

"Sylar?!" Mohinder exclaimed, recognizing the all-too familiar voice, "But-But you're dead!"

"No, he's not, Mohinder! I've been lying to you, I'm _so_ sorry for that, I should have told you the truth, but Sylar IS alive. Nathan's not on vacation, he's _dead!_ Sylar _killed_ him, and now he's _back_, back as ME!"

Sylar snatched the phone out of Mohinder's grasp. "Hello 'Sylar'," Sylar said into the phone.

"Sylar... oh my God, you hurt Mohinder and I swear to GOD I WILL _KILL_ YOU!"

"I'm not going to hurt him, we're going back to his loft to... do things together."

Peter paled. "Don't even fucking think about it you goddamned motherfucker!"

"Language, Sylar. As I've said before to a certain Asian, do you think you can do your little trick before I can do mine?"

"I'm going to stop you, I'm going to get my body back, and then, you're going to be locked up, forever!"

"Well that's impossible, Sylar. _I'm_ Peter Petrelli, and I'm staying that way. You're not getting me, or Mohinder. But I'm getting you... So tell me, how's the hunger? You losing your mind yet?"

Peter growled. "You sick fuck. You're a fucking sick pervert, having the fucking nerve to have _sex_ in _my_ body with _my_ lover!"

"That's your problem now, 'Sylar'. Well, goodbye for now. I have a feeling I'll see you soon..."

Hang up.

"Sylar said he killed Nathan," Mohinder muttered remorsefully.

Sylar nodded. "Yes, he did... I'm—I'm sorry Mohinder, I have known that Sylar has been alive, but he fooled me for so long... Ang—my mother, Matt Parkman, and Noah Bennet brainwashed Sylar into believing he was Nathan, and then, Sylar shapeshifted into him, and stayed that way for months. I didn't even know the truth until late November, less than a month ago, but I was hoping I'd be able to get him to STAY Nathan before anyone had to find out... I would have done anything to keep my brother in my life. It didn't work out, though..." Sylar spoke, feeling inexplicably guilty, "Nathan turned back into Sylar after the Nathan part of Sylar killed himself in front of me by jumping off a building, and I'm hoping Nathan can have a proper funeral with whatever stupid story my mother makes up. I'm sorry..." he repeated, "It's just—it's been too painful for me to talk about it... I cried for so many nights..."

That had been convincing.

But damn, Sylar had felt _so_ fucking sorry for Peter while saying it all of a sudden, since it had probably all been true... The guilt trip had been _overwhelming_, and had come out of nowhere. What was happening to Sylar? He suddenly felt... different, like he was changing... Like he was actually—actually turning _in_ to Peter Petrelli, for real.

And from the way Peter was acting, it seemed as if this switch worked both ways.

"Oh my God, Peter, I am so fucking sorry... That sounds _horrible_..." Mohinder murmured, brushing his hand down the side of Sylar's face, pushing the bangs out of his eyes while stopped at a red light, "I wish you hadn't of had to have suffered through that. Is there anything I can do?"

Hopefully there was.

"Change of plans, Mohinder," Sylar stated, "We're not going to your loft. Sylar will be looking for us there, so let's check into a hotel for now. It's safer that way."

Mohinder nodded. "I agree."

***

"Goddamnit!" Peter shouted, slamming his phone against the wall, accidentally electrocuting it, ruining it.

Well, damn...

Now Peter needed a new door, AND a new phone.

But, well, who cared about THAT right now? Sylar was about to have sex with his lover, in HIS fucking body!

That pervert!

Then, Peter got an idea.

He pulled his laptop out from under the bed, sat down on the bed, and then, got out his cell-phone, dialing the GPS company.

"Hello?"

"Hey, this is Mohinder Suresh. Um... my niece has my phone, and she's not back from the... uh, Nickelback concert she went to, and she should've been back by now. I was wondering if you could track down my phone so I might find out her whereabouts?"

Hopefully that was clever enough. Peter had only thought of this idea because it was the same idea Noah Bennet had thought of when Claire had run-off with Gretchen Berg to the Sullivan Bros. Carnival.

"Sure thing, Mr. Suresh. Just give us your address, date of birth, social, and password, and we'll get that right out to you."

Peter nodded, doing just that.

"She's on... sixth avenue and west fifty-forth street, the Hilton Hotel," the woman on the phone informed.

"Thanks a lot. Bye."

Peter snapped his phone shut, and narrowed his eyes.

Sylar was going down.

After Peter got his body back, that is.

If only he could withstand the hunger for _that_ long...

Shit, it was _unbearable_.

_All_ Peter could think about was killing. He wanted to go out into the streets and murder somebody right there and then, just for kicks.

How did Sylar _live_ with this, everyday...?

Peter felt... sorry for Sylar... he had forgotten what living with intuitive aptitude had been like, since he had only had that ability for such a short time... When he had killed Nathan in that horrible future. If he couldn't help it—if Nathan's own _brother_ couldn't help it—then maybe... then maybe Sylar hadn't been able to, either...

But the pity Peter felt for Sylar soon faded, as Peter felt himself _changing_ even more so.

And then, the anger, the brutal hatred, returned.

Peter grunted, going to his closet so he could change out of Sylar's ruined, beam-burned clothes.

Peter settled for a pair of black jeans, a black, button-down shirt, and an black overshirt topped with a long, black trenchcoat.

He looked dark as hell.

The clothes were tight fitting on his current form, but Peter didn't care.

Time to _**kill Sylar.**_

***

It had taken Peter Petrelli over an hour to reach the Hilton since his flight ability had temporarily shut-down due that crazy power surge Peter had had back at his apartment, returning _right_ _before Peter got to the fucking hotel_, but, damn, Peter was feeling 'hungrier' than ever.

Crazy. Psychopathic. Insane, even.

He was ready to kill, and he was going to.

Peter roughly stomped through the revolving doors of the Hilton Hotel, and up to the front desk where a young woman was seated behind a computer.

Peter stopped before the desk, looked down, and smirked.

"Hello sir," she smiled brightly, "Can I help you? Would you like a hotel room?"

"No, you bitch," Peter snarled, "I'm looking for Mohinder Suresh and 'Peter Petrelli'. One of them is a pretty guy of Indian descent with slightly curly hair, and the other is a pathetic Caucasian man with dark hair, long bangs, a small build, and he would have been wearing a paramedic's uniform."

The woman quivered slightly in her chair. She knew _exactly_ who Peter was talking about. The gay couple. That's right.

"Um, sorry, sir, but I'm not allowed to tell you if they're checked-in here..."

Suddenly, the woman found that she couldn't move, and her lips snapped shut. Then, Peter opened his hand, and it filled with fluent blue sparks of lightening.

"Tell me, or I will _kill_ you."

The young woman looked _scared to death_. When her mouth was able to move again, she looked up at Peter fearfully, and said, "They-re-They're not here. I don't know _who_ you're talking about..."

Peter smirked. "That was a lie. I felt that little tingle in my head. God, Sylar has so many delicious powers. _I'm_ the most special again, finally. That's the way it should be. Special, special little me. Anyways, where.. are they.. I swear to God that if you don't tell me, I will slice your fucking head open and rip out your brain, crushing it in my hand."

"You're-You're crazy...!"

Peter chuckled darkly. "Yes, I am. I'm fucking insane."

"I won't tell you," the woman rest-assured, "I won't."

Peter continued to telekinetically hold the woman down in the chair, before he walked around the desk. He roughly punched her in the face, once, twice, three times, until he had knocked her out completely. Thankfully, no one was around. The security in this hotel really was lousy; no wonder it was only a three star hotel. Peter dragged the woman's body into the back room, and locked the door behind him so that she would be unable to get out if she came to.

Then, Peter returned to the desk, sat down, cracked his knuckles, and typed away on the computer's keyboard, searching its database for Mohinder Suresh...

No results.

Of course.

Mohinder was too fucking cheap.

And Sylar, that little fuck, using Peter's credit cards and ID to check into one of the most expensive hotels in NYC!

So, Peter did another search, this time on himself.

And sure enough, there was a result.

Peter Petrelli. Room 32B, thirty-second floor, one guest, one bedroom room.

One bedroom, indeed.

Mohinder, that slut.

Sylar was probably fucking him right now.

"Excuse me sir, my wife and I would like a room with a view of the park, please," an elderly gentlemen stated, standing before the desk with his wife.

Peter rolled dark eyes. "Fuck you, I'm not your man."

Then, Peter stood, and, just for kicks, sent the couple crashing backwards and down to the floor, sprawling onto their backs and sides with the force of his mind.

He'd kill them later, though. Hell, he would have killed that annoying desk clerk, weren't it for the fact that Peter knew you _always_ remembered your first kill in the way Sylar remembered Brian Davis, and Peter wanted that first kill to be _Sylar_ so he'd _never_ forget, not even when the year 10, 000 AD hit.

That's right, Peter was going to live forever now, since he had decided to stay as Sylar.

Again, _he_ was the most special now.

And he liked—no—loved it.

If he even knew _how_ to love anymore.

He had forgotten what that emotion felt like.

And, fuck, the hunger... it was _consuming_ Peter. He just couldn't control it. If he didn't kill someone soon, he was going to go even crazier than he currently was. Sylar had been better at controlling his intuitive aptitude than Peter had earlier realized. But, alas, Peter's consciousness had been eradicated completely throughout the day, wearing off second by second, finally being replaced with Sylar's, and since Peter's own power of perception had stayed in his own body during the transference, that left, in Sylar's body, nothing but Sylar's consciousness mixed with Peter's own, inner darkness. And the hunger on top of everything only made it worse.

Did that mean that Sylar had become the opposite by now, though? That he was now nothing but Sylar's inner goodness mixed with Peter's?

If that was so, he'd be all the more easy to kill.

Fucking pa-the-tic.

So, without another thought, Peter straightened out his black coat, stood, and made his way to the elevators...

***

Sylar smiled. Over an hour had gone by, and the hunger was gone _completely_ now. He felt like a totally different person, and he felt... loved, and _he_ loved back, he loved Mohinder, he loved Peter, he loved Emma, he loved everyone and everything! Even Hisime! Even Angela! He loved _unconditionally_. Was this what Peter felt like, all of the time? So perfect? So content? So at peace? So wonderful?

Sylar had never felt so great, so untainted and so _loved_, in his entire _life_. It was _amazing_. Purely, and utterly amazing. Love, love, love. That's all Sylar felt and it was all he could think about, was love.

And passion.

Fiery, total passion.

Desire, perfect lust, and ardor.

Peter really had it going for him.

"That clerk was totally giving us the gaydar eyes," Mohinder chuckled as he and Sylar entered their hotel room at the Hilton, on the thirty-second floor.

"Yeah, she was," Sylar laughed back, "So, what do you want to do now? Order a paperview and a pizza? Then, we can cuddle while watching some cheesy romance movie like our cheesy, cheesy pizza."

Mohinder could only giggle again. "You know I can't stand pizza, Peter. I wish Matt could have understood that, probably one of the reasons why things between us didn't work out. I disdain delivery and takeout, as you well know. I prefer home-cooked meals, but you, my friend, _cannot_ cook worth a damn. I still don't understand how you can eat all that canned food and those horrible, _horrible_ Hungry Mann T.V. dinners. When you DO eat, that is."

Sylar shrugged, but smiled nevertheless. Actually, he—Sylar—could cook, good, and damned good. Maybe even better than Mohinder could. Mohinder made a mean cup of drugged, chai tea, though.

But, yikes, Mohinder used to be in a relationship with Matt Parkman? That was scary. Sylar could only imagine was telepathic sex was like, having someone in your mind while making love.

"Well, what do you want to do, then, Mohinder?"

"I've got an idea..." Mohinder smirked, before he wrapped his arms around Sylar's neck and crushed their lips together.

Sylar faltered a little. Back when he and Mohinder had been on the roadtrip together, he had dreamt about this moment. And now it was coming true. Mohinder's lips felt _so_ good.

Suddenly, there was another flash and another spark, surging between Sylar's and Mohinder's faces. Sylar still hadn't quite gotten a hold on Peter's power mimicry... He still didn't know where that colourful sound waves power had come from earlier in the day. Hisame? Emma, maybe? That Julius guy in the cafeteria who had sat down with Sylar eating cake before getting out a comb to brush Sylar's long bangs out of his face? Yeah, that guy had been all over Sylar-as-Peter...

Mohinder chuckled again. "Why Peter, you've once again taken my power right before the good part. I just _love_ it when you do that right before we make love. That way, we can be so rough in bed, and you get more passionate than ever."

Yowza.

Mohinder kissed Sylar again, and began dragging Sylar backwards, towards the bed, their lips still interlocked the whole while. When they reached it, they fell down upon it, Sylar on top. Sylar broke from the kiss, retracing his lips down to Mohinder's neck as he kissed the skin lightly. Then, he went to work unbuttoning Mohinder's shirt, until it was fully open. Sylar leaned over, and gently kissed Mohinder's chest several times with ease.

"Peter..." Mohinder moaned, "God, this is so _different_ from how you usually are in bed."

"What? Am I moving too fast? Too rough?" Sylar panicked.

Mohinder laughed out loud. "No, too slow, too gentle. Usually you push me down, rip open or rip _off_ my clothes, and ravish me. Or the other way around."

"Um..."

Yeah, that first one sounded like syringe-bearing nail gun Peter.

Well, Sylar had actually been rough, too, but... Gabriel Gray was not. He was anything but. And Sylar was currently Gabriel Gray again right now. No, correct that. He was Gabriel Gray _mixed_ with Peter Petrelli's _consciousness_. His goodness. His love. And, hell, during the eclipse, Gabriel had even let _Elle_ top him during their sex.

Fuck, what was Sylar doing? Mohinder wanted Peter, his lover, not Sylar... not _him_... If Mohinder knew the truth, he wouldn't want Sylar to lay a finger on him, would he? No. No, he wouldn't. This was so... _wrong_... And disgusting, when Sylar actually thought about it.

He also didn't want Peter Petrelli, or Mohinder Suresh, to hate him anymore than they already did... He had feelings for them both, always had.

"Mo-Mohinder, I-I can't do this..." Sylar murmured, "I have problems right now, with this body, so I just can't..."

Mohinder formed a baffled expression. "...Can't get it up...?"

"Urm, no, Mohinder... It's up—trust me, it is _up_, but, that's not it... I-I've done some... something bad... a lot of bad things, and I... can't take them back, as much as I'd like to... You don't want me, Mohinder... You want someone else, someone better, someone you love, not hate..."

Mohinder cupped Sylar's face with one hand. "Why Peter, you look like you're going to _cry_. What do you _mean_ I don't want you? Are you crazy? I don't want anyone else _but_ you, and of course I love you. I've done bad things too, Peter, a lot of bad things. When I think about that time I almost injected you at Pinehearst with that formula that most certainly would have plunged you into a slow, painful death, I get sick. You'll always be better than me, Peter... It's a privilege to be loved by someone so wonderful."

"It really is, Mohinder... And I love you too, very much, and y-yes, I am crazy..." Sylar whispered, "I've... killed people, Mohinder..."

"W-What...? P-Peter, what are you _saying...?_"

"I've killed people..." Sylar repeated as Mohinder wiped a single tear from his face, "A lot of people... sometimes for no reason at all, and now, I-I just want to die, oh God, I want to _die_ for my sins. I deserve to die. I _want_ to die, now that I know how much better love is than hate, how much more love is worth than abilities, since love will _always_ be more powerful than stupid, meaningless powers."

"That's very true, but-but what do you mean you've k-killed...?" Mohinder stammered, "You could _never_ kill anyone... Please, tell me it's not true, tell me it's not true, Peter, please..."

"I... I'm not P—"

Just then, the front door was busted open by an invisible force.

Mohinder looked up, and Sylar turned.

"Oh my God!" Mohinder shouted, "Sylar!"

"I'm _not_ Sylar," Peter growled as he slammed the door behind him, and from his rage, from his force, from the look in his eyes, Sylar could tell that the hunger compelled with Sylar's own consciousness and Peter's inner darkness had _finally_ taken over to the hilt. "The man on top of you is. Mohinder, you fucking _slut_, I would have _thought_ you knew your own lover well enough to know that is NOT me! I always thought you were smart—smarter than me—but you're an inconsequential _idiot_. And you, Sylar... Now you're going to _pay_ for this, for everything... I'll make you suffer so much that you WISH you could die. Oh wait—_now_ you can."

Mohinder's eyes widened. He looked up at 'Peter', only...

"S-Sylar...?"

"That's-That's what I was trying to tell you..." Sylar muttered. "I'm _so_ sorry, Mohinder..."

"Oh my GOD!" Mohinder repeated, "That really WAS Peter on the phone...? He was telling the truth about how you switched bodies...? Just... GOD!"

Mohinder suddenly threw Sylar off of him with his enhanced strength, throwing him off the bed and into a wall, snapping his right-wrist as Sylar cried out in pain.

"Careful, Mohinder," Peter smirked, "That's _still_ my body you're knocking around."

"Oh-Oh fuck," Mohinder gasped. This was by far THE strangest experience of his life. Even stranger than when he injected himself with that faulty power-granting formula and had begun wrapping wifebeaters, drug dealers, and his lover into cocoons...

Sylar looked at Peter, and could see the pure _evil_ clear in his dark eyes. He was going to kill him, wasn't he? Maybe Mohinder, too, and, God, Sylar couldn't have that. Peter's loss of consciousness mixed with Sylar's own left nothing but the evil in Peter, making Peter _**pure**__ evil_ now, even _worse_ than what Sylar was before...

Sylar stood, and with his current ability of enhanced strength, prepared to punch Peter's lights out with his good hand—hopefully knock him out long enough to get them back to normal.

But Peter saw it coming, telekinetically knocking Sylar back into the same wall he had just come from, keeping his arms pinned down at his sides. With his hands extended before himself, Peter approached Sylar, before he looked at the shocked-shitless Mohinder on the bed, smirked again, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

Peter had finally unlocked the control switch in Sylar's mind.

He shapeshifted, back into Peter Petrelli's form, until now, there were seemingly _two_ Peter's standing before Mohinder.

And, holy... Mohinder was SO CONFUSED!

"P-Peter..." Sylar stammered, "What are you doing?"

"I like being Sylar," Peter remarked with a dark chuckle, "But there can only be one of us, so I'm going to kill the other one. I never realized until now how _pathetic_ I was! 'Love love love', who _cares_ about love? Love doesn't even exist, nor does God. There's only lust, wrath, fucking, sin, and more fucking. You people _disgust_ me. You're like roaches. And now, I can get all of Sylar's powers with his body. It's a win-win situation. But, I'm hungry... and I want my ability of power mimicry too as I've grown used to it, so... yes, 'Peter', afraid you'll have to die now..."

Peter raised his left-hand, and pointed his index finger against Sylar's head.

"You know, I always wondered how I got that diagonal scar across my face in the future..." Peter derisively tormented, "...And now I know."

And with that said, Peter viciously slashed Sylar across the face with a sharp, telekinetic cut, long and deep.

Sylar howled in pain, blood running down his face.

"No...!" Mohinder pleaded. God, this was horrifying... Mohinder just wanted it to fucking stop.

Now.

Peter was literally going to torture himself, _kill_ himself.

And Mohinder did NOT want Peter to stay Sylar...

"Peter, don't do it..." Sylar whispered through the pain, "This isn't you, it's me. Love _does_ exist Peter, I've realized that now, for I can feel the unconditional love right _now_. I never realized how special you really were Peter, even without all of your abilities. You, now, it's the hunger, your inner turmoil talking. Your darkness. I know you don't want to do this... You can fight it, just like I did in the future."

"That future's dead, but now, my future self will never die."

"Peter, fucking stop it! You **can't**_ kill your __**own**__ body!_" Mohinder shouted, hopping off the bed before Peter extended his left-arm and pushed Mohinder down to the carpeted floor with the force of his mind. God, what was Peter doing? He was acting insane—more insane than Sylar, even. And what was _with_ Sylar, anyway? This didn't seem like him at all! Sylar all love and Peter all hate? What the fuck was going on? Was Mohinder tripping?

"What, you're really a whore?" Peter snarled, "Really have feelings for this fucker? Wanna spread your legs for him? Well I can fulfill that sick fantasy of yours now, my dear. If I don't kill you, that is. I think I will after I use you up, then I'll have your power permanently, too."

"No!" Sylar shouted, "Don't touch him!"

Mohinder blinked, dumbfounded. Sylar actually... cared about him...? Had he been telling the truth when he had said he loved him...?

"What, you _love_ him, Sylar?" Peter spat in Sylar's face, "You love _me_, too? You want us? You want into our lives, into our bed?"

Sylar said nothing, but his flushing face and the adverted glance of his eyes said it all.

"Y-Yes, I do... That's why you've _got_ to stop this, let me _help_ you. Let me save you with your own love. I love you so much, Peter..."

"Too damned bad, bitch. Without the hunger... and with _my_ pathetic perception on reality, on the world..." Peter continued, "You're not Sylar anymore. You're just Gabriel Gray, worse even, now that you're a combination of Gabriel and _me_. You're once again that sad, lonely little watchmaker with no self-esteem. Dull, _boring_, completely _not special_ in _any_ way... Gabriel Gray with his reprehensible two dead mommies issues, and two daddies who didn't want him," Peter ruthlessly taunted, "Another mommy, my mommy, who lied to him and broke his fucking heart, because _she_ didn't want him, either. One mommy that he killed. A daddy who left him first chance he got. A real daddy who _sold_ him because he wanted to get rid of him so badly. You should have hung yourself."

"_Please_, Peter..." Sylar begged, his eyes rapidly tearing as the blood streaked down his face. That had hit him where it hurt... And to see Peter, like this, hurt him terribly, especially in his current state of mind. "Don't say anything else like that..."

"But it's true," Peter informed in a low voice, "And now, Gabriel Gray, you die..."

With that said, Peter began to cut, and it took everything _in_ Sylar to keep from screaming.

Finally, finally he knew what all of his victims had gone through, and he felt horrible, just like he had in Samuel's hall of mirrors.

Sylar suddenly found strength within himself when he saw Mohinder telekinetically bound to the floor, along with the mad look in Peter's eyes. He freed his right-arm, concentrated, hard, on the ability he wanted to take from Peter, and just like that, it happened.

A spark.

Though Sylar still didn't fully understand Peter's power—hell, now, he didn't understand _anything_ anymore with the exception of love—he didn't even know what he had been doing, but he had done it nonetheless.

That same, bright light filled the air, hovering around their bodies, before Peter went back into his body, and Sylar went back into his.

Peter fell to down to the floor, slumped against it, as he and Sylar both gasped for breath. Sylar touched his face, realizing he was still in Peter's form, before he promptly shapeshifted back into his original self.

"Oh-Oh my _God_..." Peter murmured, "What the _hell_ was I doing? Mohinder, did I hurt you?! Are you okay?!"

Mohinder shakily stood from the floor. "Yes, Peter, I'm fine... are... are you _you_ again?"

Peter nodded, wiping Sylar's spilt tears and the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Looks like Peter really _did_ know where he had gotten that scar now...

Sylar shook his head. "Not so fun, is it, Peter?"

"I-I never knew it could get that _bad_... I can _still_ feel the hunger, inside of me... It must take a little while after the transference for the effects of our hosts to wear-off... I-I _still_ want to make people suffer. I _still_ want to destroy. I _still want to kill_... How do I control it, Sylar?"

"You don't," Sylar replied, "I guess Mohinder and I will just have to keep a close eye on you until you come to your senses, Peter..."

Sylar walked over to the nightstand, and removed a few tissues, returning to Peter as he leaned down, and slowly wiped the blood away from Peter's eyes, his face, as Peter hissed in slight pain.

"God, that's going to leave a scar, Peter..." Sylar murmured, "You sure you're going to be okay? Do you need to go to the hospital and get stitches...? And your wrist is fractured... you're going to need a cast. You should take my healing ability."

"I'll-I'll be fine, and no, I'm not taking your ability to heal... This was meant to happen... So-So does that mean if I still have some of you in me, that you still have some of me in you?"

"I-I think, so Peter..." Sylar hesitantly responded, "I know what it's like to love unconditionally now, and I _still_ love, and I see what's made you so special, so powerful, more so than me, all along..."

"Sylar..." Peter murmured as he stood, sounding a little taken.

"Gabriel. My name is Gabriel. For now..."

"Okay then, 'Gabriel'..." Peter said, closing some of the distance between Sylar and himself, until there was barely any space left between them, "How can I ever repay you for setting things right at your own free will? I could have been trapped, _as_ you, with that horrible hunger and that evil darkness for all eternity. I would have without a doubt become a murderer. I would have gone on killing endlessly until the end of time, insane, deranged, and I definitely would have killed Mohinder, too... Right off the bat, probably..."

"I-I don't want anything from you, Peter..." Sylar remarked, "It's okay, really, it's okay. Everything's fine now, I don't want anything from you."

Peter's arms rose around Sylar's neck, wrapping around it. "You're lying."

"Do you still have my lie-detection ability...?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I just know. You really love me and Mohinder?"

"I-I can't answer that, Peter..." Sylar whispered. "Not anymore."

"Yes you can, Gabriel, it's alright... We're here for you... You said it once before, you can say it again... You don't need my psyche to do that for you..." Peter spoke against Sylar's lips, closing the space in between them completely as he pressed his lips against Sylar's, kissing him. Sylar's mouth opened, and Peter pushed his tongue inside, before withdrawing it, licking Sylar's lips.

And Mohinder, strangely enough, didn't feel jealous.

In fact, Peter and Gabriel were kind of cute. Kind of sexy, even. Was this what Sylar had been like, before he had become a killer? Before the hunger had taken over? He was so... _different_...

Mohinder walked up behind Sylar, and wrapped his arms around his backside, his hands finding the buttons to Sylar's shirt as he began to undo them, as Peter continued to kiss Sylar the whole while. Then, Peter took over, roughly smacking Mohinder's hands away (and, Mohinder was pretty sure that was still the dark part of Peter talking), before Mohinder tilted Sylar's head back, kissing him with his own lips now.

When Sylar's shirt was open, Peter dipped his head, licking a long stripe up Sylar's front side, from stomach to collarbone.

Then, as Sylar and Mohinder broke apart, Sylar turned, and kissed Peter's forehead where the blood was running down the side of his head from the inch-long cut. Peter closed his eyes, and then leaned up, whispering...

"We are gonna fuck the living hell out of you, Gabriel. I know I will."

"P-Peter..." Sylar moaned.

And everything else was history...

***

Two hours later, Peter, Mohinder, and Sylar all lay in the king-sized bed together. Peter in the middle, on his back, with Mohinder to his left, on his stomach, and Sylar to the right, on his side.

Peter had been _incredibly_ rough in bed, Sylar _incredibly_ gentle, and Mohinder, well... he was just _Mohinder_, thankfully. That much was still normal, at least. The transference effects still hadn't worn off on Peter and Sylar obviously, since they were still acting as if they were meshed between themselves, with Peter a little more Sylar than Peter, and Sylar a little more Peter than Sylar.

"Wow..." Mohinder spoke in a breathless voice, "That.. was.. incredible.."

"Yeah, it was," Peter agreed, "I suddenly don't feel so 'hungry' anymore, you know?"

"Sex always did sooth me in that department..." Sylar chuckled, lightly stroking his hand down Peter's chest. "So did cake and waffles. Sometimes pancakes."

"Oh you are just too fucking cute, Gabriel," Peter said, turning onto his side so he could present Sylar with another passionate kiss to the mouth.

"So..." Sylar replied as Peter pulled away, "Who's a better kisser? Me or Mohinder?"

"I'm not touching that one with a ten foot pole."

"Come on, answer him," Mohinder urged, bumping Peter in the side with his elbow.

"You're both equally as good," Peter finally answered.

Sylar smirked. "That was definitely a lie."

Damnit.

"Truth, please," Mohinder requested.

Peter sighed. "Alright... honestly, Gabriel is a bit better, but that is because Mohinder, you use so much fucking tongue in your kisses. I always think you are going to eat me alive and _swallow me whole_."

"Hey...!" Mohinder lashed out, whining.

Sylar giggled again, but then sighed, remorsefully. "Well I should... probably go..."

"What are you saying, Gabriel?" Mohinder asked.

"I'm saying goodbye... I need to leave before I—before I turn back into Sylar again. I might hurt you. I can already feel the hunger starting to come back a little bit..."

Peter frowned. "No, you're _not_ going anywhere. You're staying with us. We'll help you, help you control it. I saw the person you became in the future, and you were almost too good to be true, like you are now. You had learned how to love and forgotten how to hate. You loved me, you loved your son, you loved Mr. Muggles, and you loved waffles."

"Wait—_I_ had a _son...?_ What was his name? What happened to him?"

"His name was Noah Gray, and he was beautiful, but I-I don't know what became of him," Peter lied, not wanting to divulge the truth to Sylar. Hell, Noah had also probably been Elle's son, and he didn't want Sylar to live with the knowledge that he had wiped out the future existence of his own offspring. "I was captured by Claire beforehand and then she took me to the Company where she tortured me with a scalpel while Rene—the Haitian—stood nearby so I'd be unable to heal, before Nathan stopped her and I... killed him..."

"You _killed_ your brother in the future...?" Mohinder asked with startle clear in his voice, "And _Claire_ tortured you there? You never told me that before."

"It was too painful to talk about, Mohinder... I never told anyone, until now. Not even mom," Peter replied.

"I'm _so_ sorry for what I did to Nathan, Peter, and to Claire..." Sylar whispered regretfully, "If I could take it back, I would. That-That wasn't _me_. All I can remember about those terrible days was the hunger, and voice inside of my head saying 'kill, kill, kill'... I couldn't control it, which is why I'm afraid I won't be able to again for long... The both of you really should let me leave."

"No," Peter repeated, "We're not letting you go. You saved my life, again. You can be a good person when you want to be, and deep down, you _are_ that person. Mohinder and I will help you through it. And hey—I have an idea, if you start to change suddenly, you and I could always make the switch again... that might buy us some time..."

"Peter, you and I just can't go on switching bodies back and forth for an eternity. That's deranged."

"Yeah... it sort of is, Peter," Mohinder agreed. "Especially after what just happened. Seeing Sylar so pure and you so evil was the creepiest thing I have _ever_ seen in my life, and you shouldn't risk it happening again. I think we should all just take shower—I'd really like to get all this you-know-what off of me—and then, get some sleep. Then, we can figure out what to do when we wake up."

"I'll go for that," Peter replied, even though he was the only one of them who wasn't all sticky. With Sylar's hunger compelled with Peter's darker and more lustful side, he... yeah, really hadn't been up to bottoming. It was kind of funny, actually, or so Sylar and Mohinder thought. Peter usually seemed like the kind of person who would 'take turns' on the sheets, and he normally was.

"Let's go," Sylar concurred, before they all got out of bed and made their ways to the large shower.

Another hour later, Peter and Mohinder were both in bed asleep, though Sylar had stayed awake and slipped out soon enough just as soon as the urge to cut some cranium had returned in order to spare Peter's and Mohinder's lives, their souls, leaving Peter and Mohinder—especially Peter once his compassion had fully returned—extremely down and depressed.

Two weeks went by, but eventually, out of nowhere, Sylar showed up at Mohinder's doorstep while Peter was there.

Mohinder had been cooking, and Peter, oddly enough, had been fixing Mohinder's watch. Peter's scar had healed for the most part, but he was going to be stuck with it for the rest of his life, and he had a white cast on his right-arm, which Mohinder had signed. Peter had also started wearing his hair in a different way, all slick and gelled back, and Sylar honestly didn't like it. Pretty little Peter wasn't quite so pretty anymore. Peter had also taken up drinking and going to strip clubs where he got an _insane_ amount of lap dances and phone numbers from the lady strippers, and that pissed Mohinder off royally.

Peter had changed, for good. He was... darker now...

Peter had wondered idly, since in the future he had bore the scar, if he would _somehow_ get all of his abilities back in the near-future. Maybe he would gain enough understanding of his power mimicry to absorb Sylar's empathic ability? It seemed plausible enough...

And, damn, Sylar had that damned concussion beams power, now, though it had been hard to take... with Peter's voice _screaming_ in the back of Sylar's head the whole time.

All the same, Sylar just... hadn't been able to stay away from Peter and Mohinder, the small taste of love Peter's body had given him still sour on his tongue. It would probably always be there; Peter would always be a part of Sylar now, just like Sylar would always be a part of Peter.

They had stayed as each other for just a _little_ too long to ever fully reverse the side-effects.

Still, the fact that Peter had taken up repairing watches and the fact that Sylar had started watching House M.D. was mind-boggling.

But of course, Peter and Mohinder took Sylar back nevertheless, even with the hunger and his original power of perception.

And everything was good for awhile...

...Until Peter accidentally switched bodies with Mohinder while they were all in bed.

Oops.

Peter promptly switched them back.

Peter sighed, suddenly feeling the urge to cook and to delve into the topic of genetics the way Mohinder _always_ did after the sex.

"That's it—I'm finding that fucking asshole who gave me this ridiculous ability so I can beat him into a fucking bloody pulp and get Mark out of that goddamned motherfucking mental institution," Peter cussed. He cussed a lot, now. "Mark doesn't deserve that, whoever the hell that asshole really IS does. Mohinder, will you help me get that fucker?"

"Of course I will, Peter."

"And I will too," Sylar smirked darkly.

And they did, too.

They only problem left was Hesam.

For now, Hesam had to wonder what was up with Peter's new dark look along with Peter's _two_ gay lovers.

God only knew how many _more_ he had in the closet... both literally and metaphorically speaking.

Four? Five? Twelve? Twenty-three?

Was Peter a pimp?

Did he wear a long trench at night and hold a pimp cane, and had he bitch-slapped one of his hos one night before she had slashed him across the face with a pocket knife before breaking his wrist?

Surely.

Yeah, Peter was _definitely on drugs_...

Nevertheless, Peter resigned from his job as a paramedic a few days later and instead became a bouncer at a nearby strip club, where he earned twice as much money as he ever had at his original job.

He also _finally_ filled his apartment with furniture, buying a black couch, a black bedspread and sheets, a wine cooler, a giant surround-sound stereo system, and a HUGE flatscreen Sony T.V. that he put up on his living room wall.

Peter also took down his bathroom and bedroom doors, instead replacing them with shiny beaded curtains.

And he had Mohinder and/or Sylar over regularly, where tea time wasn't their ideal pass-time.

Even Matt Parkman had dropped by once while Mohinder was there, and...

Oh God.

***

...Angela Petrelli awoke in bed, screaming, even, the last image she had seen in her dream—no—_nightmare_—being one of her newly scarred and very loaded son making-out with Sylar in the strip club where he worked as Hesam observed from a nearby table with a hung jaw, before Peter then made-out with Mohinder. Then, they had all done this weird triple-kiss thing that Angela hadn't even known was possible to do...

Oh GOD.

Worst.. precognitive.. dream.. EVER..

Angela _had_ to stop this.

She quickly picked up the phone on the nightstand next to her bed, and dialed Peter's cell.

Ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Pick up.

"Mom?"

"Peter!" Angela gasped, "Where are you? _Please_ tell me you haven't gone to Mark Stanton's yet!"

Peter's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"

"Oh thank God..." Angela sighed with relief, "Peter, the hospital is going to get a call soon from the house of one Mark Stanton, and when they do, you _can't_ go. If you do, you're going to turn into Sylar for a day, and nearly—maybe—stay him. After that, a part of him will be with you _always, _and _that's_ how you get that scar across your face that you had in the future. You end up in his body and everything, and he in yours, and then you both... you both... make love at the Hilton..."

Peter formed a baffled and disgusted expression. "Mom... that is ridiculous, and _gross_. Have you been dipping into the liquor and the Vicodin _again?_ It's a little _early_ for that, isn't it? I told you you needed to lay off that stuff, I really, _really_ did. I know Nathan's gone, but you can find better ways of coping, seriously."

"Peter! I'm NOT drunk or on pills! This is SERIOUS! Do you WANT to end up in Sylar's body, nearly killing your own while Mohinder watches from the floor? Do you WANT your pretty face scarred for life? You were INSANE, Peter, worse than Sylar, even. When you took over Sylar's body, your consciousness was eventually erased and replaced with his, leaving his awareness mixed with your darkness compelled with the hunger. You would have murdered me, Mohinder, everyone!"

That last part really, really got to Peter. Did his mom actually... know about him and Mohinder...?

"Mom... you're freaking me out a little... Did you _actually_ dream this?"

Angela nodded alongside the phone. "Yes, I did. Again, when the call from _Mark Stanton_ comes, you _can't_ go. _Promise_ me you _won't_."

"Okay mom, I _promise_. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Hang up.

Of course...

...Peter's curiosity got the best of him.

Like it always did.

So not-the-sharpest-tool-in-the-shed-Peter Petrelli went anyway...

And everything happened just the way Angela had dreamed it would, though since Angela had warned Peter about the scar, Peter had held himself back and hadn't slashed Sylar's—his face—out of cautionary fear.

At least Peter stayed pretty and didn't start doing that funny thing with the hair gel looking like some badass ganister that went to strip clubs and knocked back scotches one after the other, and he never left his job at the hospital, though he _did_ develop a liking for black trenchcoats.

And he _did_ stay in his relationship with Mohinder, and end-up in one with Sylar, too.

And so the next time Angela dreamed about Peter, Sylar, and Mohinder all having a threeway a-gain, on Christmas, she drank, and took some Vicodin so she wouldn't dream the following night.

Christmas had been another Freaky Friday for her.

Poor Angela.

***

**A/N:** Erm... I dunno... _what_ that was... this was without a doubt _the_ most _ridiculous_ thing I have _ever_ written in my life, making it pretty damned ridiculous, even crazier than 'Jin vs. the Joint', and that is pretty crazy, peeps. I must be pretty crazy. x__x;; Yepa. No wonder I always score as Sylar or Adam on the Heroes ratings/quizzes. After writing this, I... think I may need some help. Or something. (No comment to that, plz.) And once again like my last fic, I did NOT know what genres to place this under... this was kinda cracky, humourous, parody'ish, romatic, dramatic, hurt/comfort, AND angst! WTF? WHY do I ALWAYS have to do that...? And, I didn't mean to make Angela seem so... blah... she is my favourite Heroes character, so I just HAD to sneak her into this fic. x) And sorry for Hesam fans, since he seemed kind of stupid in this, but I dun like him... He thought Peter was nuts and staging fatal accidents.

And in that Smallville ep where Clark and Lionel switched bodies, Lionel STAYED like Clark and turned over a whole new leaf for awhile after they switched back since he still had Clark's consciousness, and in that time period he was even more pure than Clark himself, but he eventually returned to his evil ways in the end, even though he stayed nicer than he had been before after that, especially right before he bit the dust... so, yes, that's also where part of the idea for this fic came from, lol. Yeah, I watch too much Smallville. And Heroes. And Supernatural...

Yeah... I can tell this fic should be a flame _magnet_ because it is _so_ insane, but, _please_ don't... Flames make me sad. :( So if you have the urge to flame me, just kindly hit the back button before you do so.

And as always, I delete anon flames and block logged-in reviewers who flame so they can't do it again.

And as I have already said and say every year, Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

And, dang, I really do need to go write some Tekken fanficcage now. I have been neglecting my most beloved fandom in favour of Heroes since October. *sweatdrop*


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